


crescendo

by angelicxi



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, I have no excuses, consider this celebratory porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicxi/pseuds/angelicxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it wrong? Perhaps. But he wants her, and she wants him just as much. So they play each other, two high-strung violins creating the most beautiful harmony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> The manga is over, so I decided to celebrate with some porn, perhaps in part to make a point - you don't need your ship to be endgame to ship it and create for it. Porn away, kids! Also, because I am a terrible person, this ended up much longer than originally anticipated. Oops.
> 
> All cliches are intentional. Enjoy!

This, Byakuya decided, had to be the stupidest thing he had ever done. And he had done a lot of downright moronic things, especially in his youth; but this? This took the cake.

He found that he couldn’t care less.

And really, it wasn’t because of how much she looked like Hisana – Rukia couldn’t be more different from her sister even if she tried, so much so that the appearance hardly mattered.

Hisana had been gentle and soft-spoken and had had a way with words; old fashioned, scholarly, like an imperial wife of the old world. As she had been sickly, she spent most of her time indoors, reading, honing the only sword she had: her mind. And what a sharp blade that had been.

Rukia was almost a polar opposite: she lacked any sense of subtlety entirely, and was blunt and boyish, still a street rascal despite the crest of the Kuchiki family displayed on her back. And while she was a far cry from stupid, her bluntness made her unfit for the world aristocrats lived in.

She did not know how to smile if she wasn’t truly happy, and she didn’t know how to say no when someone needed her help.

Once upon a time, that had almost been her downfall.

(He recalled Kurosaki Ichigo, and a red band choking the life out of her, and shuddered.

Never again.

He would sooner let Senbonzakura devour him alive than let anything like that happen again.

He used to think honor came before reason; he’d learned since that honor and reputation were both too small a price, so long as she was safe and close enough to hold.)

But despite her awkwardness, despite how she was still gangly, still loud, there was grace in her, too, hidden deep underneath an abrasive layer meant to protect her.

If anything, her shortcomings only endeared her to him more: because Hisana had had hers, too. She had just been better at hiding them. And he loved them both dearly; one had been his moon and his stars, and the other was the sun that slowly, ever so slowly lit up his world after her death.

So no, it wasn’t the resemblance that drew him to her.

It was simply the fact that she was Rukia, _his_ Rukia, making that god-awful face and giving him the bedroom eyes. 

He was stupefied. Mortified.

And he had an erection.

“Brother,” she said, downright _crawling_ towards him. “Please.”

“I – no.”

She settled over him, kneeling with her legs slung on either side of his lap, trapping him under  the weight of his body .  She pouted, and he tried to focus on the matter at hand rather than the way her ass was rubbing against his clothed penis. The friction of skin-against-fabric-against-fabric-against-skin only made it worse than if they  both  had been naked.

“Why not?”

“Because we _can’t,_ Rukia,” he said, almost pleadingly. His head was swimming. 

He took a deep breath, and all that accomplished was pushing their bodies even closer together.

“But I want to,” she said, petulant, like a child who is denied her favorite snack.

Byakuya eyed her from underneath furrowed brows. He almost felt like asking her if she’d seen Mayuri recently. He wouldn’t put the man past conducting some sort of strange, fucked-up experiment.

_That son of a –_

His thought was interrupted by a curious hand, one whose index finger was dragging down a slow line from his sternum, to his belly button, to his –

_oh. ooh._

“Rukia, no,” he said, but made no effort to stop her.

“Why do you protest so much?” she replied, thumbing circles over his erection. He bit his lip. “I know you want it. And I quite obviously want it, too.”

“Because we are siblings. What we’re doing – what you’re _trying_ to make me do – is forbidden.”

“I’m only your adopted sister. And there have been instances of actual blood siblings interbreeding among the noble families before, no? This is nothing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Rukia, please –” he said, and the rest died in his throat. Her mouth was on his, ruby red, torturing him, destroying him. He moaned into the kiss without realizing it, and his hands found her hips, pressing her body down, closer to him, squeezing just hard enough to not be painful.

And then he came undone.

“Ah!”

She didn’t have time to react. Effortlessly, as if she was made of feathers, he turned them over so she was laying flat on her back instead.

“Fuck,” he cursed. His hands were shaking. “Fuck. Fine. If this is how you want it – fine.”

He pressed his knee into the sweet, aching spot between her legs, and peeled off her dress.

It was almost too easy.

“That’s no fair, now is it?” she asked, stopping him. “Undress.”

He did.

She ran her hands over the taut muscle, the expression on her face that of someone who is seeing snow for the first time. He was a masterpiece, she thought, and pressed her mouth to the junction between his throat and shoulder. She bit down, hard enough to draw blood.

He was a masterpiece, and he was all hers.

But he didn’t give her time to leave more marks. Gently, he pushed her back down on the bed, and set to work. He started with her mouth, kissing her as if he was trying to steal the soul out of her lungs, and then moved to her jaw, peppering a flutter of butterfly kisses from her ear to her chin. And then down, slow and languid, almost as if the curve of her throat was a blank canvas and he an artblocked classic.

Her breath was becoming labored and irregular. He smiled against the pulse beating in her throat, pressing a final, open-mouthed kiss before moving down to her breasts.

He let his tongue do the worshiping.

Byakuya had never been one of those men who have a definite preference for bust sizes; mostly because he didn’t particularly care for women sexually unless there was an emotional connection bonding them. Sure, he could appreciate them from a purely esthetic point – but whether they were large or petite, they were still just breasts to him. It didn’t really matter.

Rukia’s were the perfect size to fit into the cup of his palms, but what made them truly _perfect_ was the fact that they were hers. And when he rolled the pink buds of her nipples between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers, letting his teeth graze over the tops, it felt as if he was playing the piano.

It made the sweetest of sounds come out of her mouth.

“Ah...”

Gooseflesh had risen all over her body.

In the golden light of sunset, she was the loveliest painting, with her lily-white skin flushed rose, the unmistakeable amethyst of her eyes misted over, deepened, lost in an ocean of desire, watching him from underneath heavy lashes with the kind of want so absolute words cannot accurately describe.

He pressed his mouth to her sternum, and felt the frantic beat of her heart.

For a moment, the world fell away; there was just a him and her, nameless and unimportant, free of responsibilities and images to uphold. He drank in her scent, lily of the valley and snow with the heady undertone of a woman in full bloom, and knew his fate was sealed.

He had thought that after Hisana he would never love again.

Fate was a cruel thing, its’ sense of humor thorny and twisted.

“You’re beautiful, Rukia,” he told her. He caught her hand in his. “So beautiful.”

She smiled, shyly; a far cry from the display of assertiveness she had shown him before.

“No more beautiful than you, Brother.”

“Call me by my name.”

“...Byakuya. Byakuya? Byakuya!”

He awoke from the dream with a start. Renji was standing over him with a concerned look, squinting.

“Who told you it’s alright to call me by name, lieutenant Abarai? Or stand this close, for that matter.”

Renji backed away as if hit by hot oil. He blinked slowly, stupidly, not quite understanding why his superior has an almost tangible murder intent hanging off his shoulders.

“...I apologize, Captain. But you weren’t answering to Captain.”

“Oh.”

They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch out infinitely. Byakuya cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. His mouth was dry. “What was it that you needed?”

“Nothing, really,” Renji said, and felt the murderous aura thicken. He swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if he was going to get out of the office in one piece. “I came in to inform you that I’m about to leave. Everyone else is already gone. I found you asleep. You seemed to be in pain.”

_Breathe,_ Byakuya told himself.  _Breathe. He is an idiot, no doubt. But he is...somewhat useful._

_Occasionally._

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” he said. “I was just...having a dream.” Pause. “If that is all, you may go.”

Renji made for the door. Just as he was getting out, he turned back, a concerned expression on his face.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Byakuya stressed. He wasn’t, of course, but he didn’t know how he could possibly explain what, exactly, he had been dreaming of without coming across as a sick being.

His lieutenant was overprotective enough of Rukia as it was. He had no desire to start a feud.

“Alright,” Renji said. He sounded unconvinced. “I will be leaving first, then. Take care, Captain.”

He wasn’t deigned with a reply. When the door clicked shut behind him, Byakuya waited until he couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore before he allowed himself a shaky exhale. He tried not to think of his dream, but the  oversensitive bulge in his pants wasn’t helping.

The slightest move made his knees tremble, in spite of how airy his uniform was.

Resigned, he decided he will go home, and purge himself with a scalding bath.

“But first...” he breathed to the empty room, “first I have to take care of this.”

He was so stiff it was almost painful. Unable to chase away the image of Rukia splayed out under him helped make quick work of it; he  came so hard he saw stars,  his back arching,  calling her name .

O nce his orgasm wore off,  he shuddered.  He felt disgusted with himself.

Deep down, however, he knew he didn’t really have a reason to. Their blood relation aside, they had not grown up as siblings – he had never seen her entirely as a sister. He _had_ seen her as a child, but somewhere along the way she grew up and became a woman.

And he loved her. He just wasn’t sure anymore in what way, exactly.

He found the house asleep and silent, and after picking a yukata, he made his way to the baths.

They were already occupied.

A lilting voice was singing a children’s rhyme, softly, almost as if it was an afterthought; he froze with his hand a breath away from the door, realizing who that voice belonged to.

_What should I do…?_

He was at a loss. The after-images of his dream lingered, woven around him like a spider’s web.  H e knew the figures in it had been mere chimeras, but he also knew that they both had been voicing a latent thought, a latent desire that had been growing inside of him.

_This will tear me apart, if I let it,_ he thought, too tired to deal with it. He decided to return to his room, quietly, before she’d notice.

And then the door slid open.

Rukia stood there, wrapped only in a thin bathrobe, water still dripping from her hair.

Her eyes widened.

“Welcome home, Brother,” she said. “You’re...unusually early, today.”

He swallowed thickly, trying to remind himself that the woman he had dreamed was a figment of his imagination, not a reflection of the one standing in front of him.

Naturally, it was of no use.

“I am,” he said, stupidly. “There wasn’t much work to do today.”

“Ah.” Pause. Then, startled: “Oh! Forgive me. I’m standing in the way.” She moved aside, making room for him to pass. 

The more he looked at her, the more he could feel his body heating. He wondered what had gotten into him, and recalled the beginning of his dream; perhaps it was him Mayuri had secretly operated on.

_Or perhaps I really am..._ ah, how could he put it? 

He tried to keep the longing out of his eyes as he traced the path a water droplet made as it slid from her hair down the curve of her throat, and prayed to the gods he was at least half successful.

_Ah, yes,_ he thought.  _Perhaps I really am sexually frustrated._

Rukia glanced at him with concern. “Are you alright, Brother?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said, and didn’t meet her eyes. He stepped inside the bathroom. “Just tired.”

“I see. Well, then,” she said, a little awkward. “Goodnight, Brother.”

“Goodnight, Rukia.”

She gave him a smile that made him think,  _this would be worth dying for,_ and slid the door shut.

Left alone, he sighed.

He made sure the bathwater was hot enough to melt his skin off, but that didn’t help, either.  A thousand thoughts with little coherence swam furiously inside his head: half a lecture to himself and a permeating sense of shame, half a wide awake dream of her thighs around his waist.

The two chimeras were warring, and he had a terrible feeling he already knew who would win.

He walked away from it as frustrated as he had entered, only cleaner in body,  not in mind or spirit.

The faint light coming from his bedroom tipped him off on someone’s presence, and his worst fear became concrete when, upon opening the door, he found Rukia inside. A meal had been laid out for him on the table; she looked up from the book she had been reading, and her face lit up in a smile.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, softly.

And surprisingly enough, he was; though most of his appetite bore a different nature  than  the one she had in mind .

He sat down across from her.

“Thank you,” he said. 

She had changed into a simple shift. He wondered if he had always realized how beautiful she was; if he hadn’t,  then he had been blind,  and if he had,  then he had been a sensible fool who ignored it.

He ate in silence, almost mechanically.

Rukia watched him with a thoughtful expression.

“Are you quite sure you’re alright, Brother?” 

“I’m fine.”

The answer came out more clipped than he had intended it to be.

She bit her lip, and he wondered if she had even the slightest inkling what that did to him.

“Am I...perchance, am I bothering you?”

Soft, so soft, and fringed with fear.

“Not at all,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. “I’m merely...tired.”

That wasn’t a lie, either.

“If you want me to, I’ll take my leave – it’s late, anyway, and I...” she made to rise.

R eflexively, he caught her wrist.

“Stay,” he said. Then, softer: “Please.”

Wordlessly, she settled back down, folding her hands in her lap. Although he couldn’t see them, he knew she was fidgeting. It made him feel terrible.

He finished his meal in silence.

“Thank you for the food.”

Her smile had become smaller. She started to clean the dishes, neatly arranging them on the tray she had brought them in on. He watched her work, her hands small and quick, with long fingers. 

It amazed him, a little, how something so deadly could be so dedicate. He had felt the bones in her body; he knew how brittle they were. He had also seen her dance. Her sword was  one of the most dangerous, and perhaps the most beautiful zanpakuto in Seireitei.

H e watched the shadows play across her face, and it was like opening his eyes for the first time; quietly, resignedly, he admitted to himself that he loved her. 

He admitted to himself that he loved this delicate, deadly woman – not the way a brother does, but the way a lover would. With desperation.

With abandon.

_It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,_ he thought. _Or so they say._

He drew a deep breath, and prayed he wouldn’t regret what he was about to do.

In one smooth movement, he rose; gently, ever so gently, he stilled her hands, and nudged her until she was standing upright, facing him.

“Forgive me,” he said, and cupped her face with one hand while the other sneaked its’ way to the small of her back. “I am afraid I have reached my limit.”

Confused eyes looked up at him.

“Brother…?”

Through the thin fabric of her dress, he could feel her skin; smooth, and warm, permeated by a scent so familiar he was sure he would be able to pick on even the slightest whiff of it.

Something swelled deep inside his belly.

“Forgive me,” he said again, and this time the words were barely a whisper.

He leaned in, and locked their mouths together, sealing their fate.

Rukia’s body went rigid with surprise for the slightest of seconds; but then she relaxed, melting into him. He had expected to be pushed away – instead she fisted her hands in the fabric of his collar, pulling him closer. Encouraged, he drew her toward him until their bodies were pressed flush together.

He couldn’t say how long that kiss lasted: perhaps a moment, or perhaps a fraction of eternity. But he could say that it was filled with everything he didn’t quite know how to say, from his love, to his apologies, and, finally, to the desires that plagued him. Though those were becoming more and more apparent even without his help; he could feel himself grow hard again.

Byakuya had always been awkward at expressing himself. He could only hope she understood.

When they parted for air, Rukia tucked herself into his chest, her face flushed the color of cherries.

“I...” she started to say, but quickly lost her trail of thought. “That was...I mean. Wow. Just – _wow._ ”

He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry,” he said,  but his traitorous hands wouldn’t budge. His mind was warring with his body, and his body was winning with ease.

“What for?” she said, drawing back just enough so she could look at him.

“This,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

“Don’t be,” she said, and her smile was so bright it put the sun and all the stars to shame. She bit her lip. “Truth be told...if you didn’t – didn’t take the initiative, eventually I would have done it instead.”

That surprised him. And humbled him, somehow.

“I didn’t know that...this...was mutual.”

He avoided calling it attraction, and he avoided calling it love. His heart was pounding so hard he felt it would explode in his chest. He couldn’t afford to, not until he was sure the sentiment was shared.

“I think I’ve loved you almost from day one,” she said, and laughed. “In an innocent way, at first. I thought the only reason you had adopted me was because I looked so much like the dead Lady Kuchiki, not knowing who she was. I thought you hated me, and that the reason you were harsh was because I reminded you so much of her, you couldn’t bear to look at me.”

He looked away.

“I was a fool. I’m sorry for that, too.”

She pat his face, bemused. “Don’t be. I was as much a fool as you.”

He lifted her in his arms without even thinking, and her legs wrapped around him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. They kissed again, slow and languid, more intense than the first time.

“Are you sure you want this? With me?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?”

Rukia laughed. “Just kiss me.”

So he did.

He kissed her  as if the world would end if he didn’t, kissed her  as if he was trying to breathe through her lungs instead of his own, kissed her  as if they were the last two living beings left in the world.

And in that moment, they might as well have been.

Gently, ever so gently, he laid her down on the bed, and helped her pull her dress off. She undid his sash in turn, and he climbed in next to her, snuffing the lights.

They were alone in the dark, now, just them and the silver of moonlight coming in through the window.

Just like in his dream, he allowed himself to worship at the altar of her body.

He began with her mouth, kissing her until her lips bruised; then moved to her jaw, and down her throat, branding the thin skin with his teeth. He couldn’t bring himself to care anymore – when dawn would come, the whole world would know that she is his.

He moved down to her chest, peppering kisses on her collarbones, leaving his mark on the flesh just above her heart. His hands cupped her breasts, and she arched into his touch, shivering when he began to roll her nipples in-between his knuckles. 

“Shh. Don’t make loud sounds.”

“Easy for you to say _now,_ ” she huffed, and to him it sounded like less like a threat and more like a promise. He apologized by suckling on her breast, delighted to find just how sensitive she was.

Her breath was coming in sharp intakes and going out in labored puffs,  and he could tell how hard she was struggling to keep silent. The danger of getting caught in the act only aroused him more, if he were to be honest, and so he bit down on her nipple – lightly, just enough so she could feel it. He was not disappointed. Her reaction was immediate; he received a gasp and an angry look for his trouble.

“You...” she said, furrowing her brows but too excited to stay mad, “are an evil man.”

“Perhaps I am,” he breathed against her, dragging his teeth along the curve of breast.

His eyes were laughing at her, and somehow that only made her want him more.

“Oh, you most definitely are.”

“Hn.”

He nuzzled her sternum, and let his tongue carry the conversation. He licked his way down to her navel and lower, going back up and then back down, dragging his teeth across the wet line he had left behind.

She was growing impatient, and he didn’t have it in him to let her wait for too long.

So he ran his tongue over the place where she wanted him most, drinking in her wetness and breathing in her heady scent, savoring the moment and how every flick of his tongue over her clit made her writhe, arch off the bed in an exquisite spasm. 

He eased a finger into her, and then another, working a painfully slow rhythm.

H er hands tightened in his hair.

“Oh, for the love of – Byakuya, _please._ ”

T he way she said his name sent a jolt straight down to his dick, and he ignored just how painful his erection had become. He could endure. Her pleasure came first.

She  felt him smile against her. He  complied, quickening his pace, dragging her clitoris between his teeth. Making her come undone was easy; her orgasm was powerful and sudden.  She made a small noise, half a whimper and half an exclamation of pleasure.

When a ll the muscles in her body tensed at once,  her back arched completely off the bed , and he let her ride out the high by continuing his ministrations.

“Oh, gods. That was...”

S he was panting, little aftershocks still cruising through her, and it made him swell with pride and an odd sort of satisfaction. He was pleased that he had pleased her.

“That was amazing,” she finished when she managed to get her breath back under some semblance of control, her voice a little dreamy. He laughed, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

“Happy to have been of service.”

“Tease,” she reprimanded, and grabbed his face. He followed her, coming up for a kiss.

She could taste herself on his tongue, salt and a flavor she couldn’t quite name.

“I believe that describes you more accurately,” he said, and kissed her again.

“Is that so? Why, then. Let me make up for it.”

He made no effort to stop her from rolling them over and  pinning him down. 

There was a predatory glint in her eye. She kissed him, hard, and paid him back for the hickeys; she bit into the junction where his throat met the shoulder until she tasted blood, and licked it off, suckling at the wound until the pain of the bite turned to pleasure.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered, her hands thumbing circles into his chest.

“You,” he said, simply, and held back a grunt when she bit his earlobe.

He had never thought she’d be this much of a biter. 

Not  that he minded.

She made her way down to his  erection with a flurry of sloppy, wet kisses along the line that led from his throat to penis. He realized in hindsight that he had absolutely no idea how much experience she had; he had assumed none, but her movements weren’t clumsy enough for that to be entirely true.

The pang of jealousy he felt when he thought about the mysterious man she might have experimented with was momentary; it became forgotten in entirety once she wrapped her hand around his shaft and started working it, pumping up and down with the same painfully slow rhythm he had fingered her just moments before.

He cursed under his breath, and was rewarded with a smile.

“Remember,” she said. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Tease,” he said, and his body won him over a second time that night. “Do it faster. _Please_.”

He wasn’t accustomed with begging.

She stopped altogether, only to wrap her mouth around the head of his cock moments later; it was clumsy enough, attesting to her inexperience, but Rukia was a surprisingly fast learner. She adjusted as she went, taking him in deeper and deeper into her throat, stroking the base of his shaft with one hand and holding him angled with the other.

It took all of his willpower to not fist his hands in her hair.

“Fuck,” he grunted, and that was a word she never thought she’d hear come out of his mouth.

S he was probably far more giddy about being the one to make him lose control than she should have been. She let him go with a wet popping noise, switching movements, alternating between licking and sucking; precum was already at the tip, leaking down the length of his member, coating her lips.

Rukia hadn’t seen many penises in her life, and she had never actually seen one this up close, but she was quite certain very few men were lucky enough to posses one as beautiful as his. 

Mostly they were just gangly lumps of meat and nerve ends, but his was supple, not too long or too thick, and only slightly curved right toward the end. It only made her want it inside of her more.

She took him deep in her mouth again, all the way until she could feel the tip poking the back of her throat. She looked directly into his eyes, picking up speed,  and it had the desired effect: he came hard, biting down on his lip with such force he cut himself to keep from screaming out. Heroically, he had managed to resist until the end, and didn’t ball his hands in her hair as he climaxed. 

He did ride out the embers of his orgasm, however, giving a few more thrusts before it died down. She could taste his semen, surprisingly thick, not as salty as she had expected it would be. 

She drank him dry.

“Fuck,” he grunted. Black spots plagued his vision.

When she rolled off of him, he was still half-hard.  Not even he had expected he’d have it in him.

Bemused, she crawled forward until she was hovering just above his erection. She was so wet that when she reached down and parted her lips, the juices came flowing out, dripping on him. She used them as the lubricant nature had intended them to be, and began rubbing herself on him and stroking the head of his penis, all in an excruciatingly slow rhythm.

The movement, combined with all the thoughts of what he’d love to do to her that swam around in his head, made quick work of getting him back to full erection.

“I,” he whispered, grabbing her hips, “am going to fuck you. _Hard._ ”

Rukia smiled, slipping him inside of her. She couldn’t hold back the moan this time.

“That’s what I was hoping you would do,” she said.

She rode him like her life depended on it, and he met each of her thrusts with one of his own, buckling his hips, slamming his full length into her welcoming cunt. 

It was music in its’ own way, the song their bodies played to  a furious rhythm of flesh hitting flesh.

Byakuya had never felt anything more vividly than he felt her  in that moment ; the almost scorching warmth inside of her, the scent of her sex, the scent of her skin, the whimpers and moans she tried to hold back, the irregularity of her breathing. He was aware of everything pertaining to her, almost as if his world began and ended at the same spot where they were conjoined.

For her part, Rukia’s mind was slowly going blank. 

She didn’t feel him the way she had expected she would, every ridge and vein mapped out; what she felt was a sensation of almost unbearable fulness and the frustration of an orgasm she badly wanted to reach. He was hitting deep inside her, so deep from time to time his thrust s would reach the opening of her uterus.  O ne of his hands was on her thigh, digging into her flesh with such force she knew she’d be bruised in the morning, while the other was on the small of her back, guiding her to match his tempo.

Somewhere along the line she had laid her head down on his shoulder and was now biting into it, half because she wanted to and half to keep herself from making sounds, while her hands had settled on his shoulder blades and they were digging in, indenting two sets of perfectly defined crescents. From time to time they slipped from the force of their lovemaking, drawing blood.

Judging by the way he hissed when that happened, she was pretty sure he didn’t mind. 

They climaxed within moments of one another, rocking together as they rode the aftershocks, a gangly mess of sweaty limbs and labored breathing. They stayed like that, locked in an embrace, long after the waves of their orgasms died down.

“That was – that was wonderful,” she whispered.

They untangled themselves with the ease of longtime lovers, still hyper aware of each other’s bodies.

“I saw stars,” he confessed.

She laughed, curling into his side. She pressed a kiss to the side of his throat.

“Then perhaps we should have a repeat of it.”

Her tone was playful.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m dry for the night.”

“Tomorrow morning, then.”

He stole a quick, sweet kiss from her lips.

“Anything you want.”


End file.
